


Inked

by sarena



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Desk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Porn With Very Little Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Soulmates, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-19 15:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarena/pseuds/sarena
Summary: One dream per year. Her name in his handwriting. It wasn't enough, and the longing would only get worse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Hermione Smut Fest 2018. Thanks to the mods for organising this fest! It was a pleasure to participate :).
> 
> Dear recipient, I hope you like what my brain decided to make of your prompt. For some weird reason, it became much longer than intended, but I really enjoyed writing it! It also became much filthier than I thought. In fact, I think this is the longest and most explicit smut I've ever written ;). 
> 
> A huge THANK YOU to my fantastic alpha and betas HeartOfAspen and riptide. I wouldn't know what to do without the both of you <3! Especially HeartOfAspen has been and continues to be a constant source of encouragement and support. You are so precious!  
> Any remaining mistakes are mine, as I tend to make 5-minutes-before-deadline changes ;).
> 
> Please see the end notes for the detailed prompt :).
> 
> Disclaimer: All rights belong to JK Rowling and her publishers. I just borrow the characters and the world for a bit; the plot (as little as there is) is mine, though. This is a non-profit work, and no copyright infringement is intended.

 

 

ooOoOoOoo

September 19th, 1996 - Hermione’s 17th birthday

Face-down, Hermione sighed into the pillow. Strong hands kneaded her stiff back, working out the knots she had accumulated in her aching muscles from constant bowing over textbooks and essays. Turning her head to the side, she pushed her riotous hair away from her cheek and smiled at the relaxing scent of lavender and vanilla. She felt more massage oil dripping onto her back and skilled hands spreading it across her skin, just grazing the sides of her bare breasts. Her next sigh was more of a moan as his hands slid from her neck to her bum in one powerful stroke. Half-expecting him to grab her buttock, she momentarily tensed up, but he only skimmed it lightly before digging his thumbs into the muscles along her spine.

She heard him shift and settle onto the backs of her thighs. The massage oil must’ve been edible because a moment later, he was kissing from one shoulder to the next, moving his mouth to her neck, flicking his tongue out. Hermione squirmed under his weight, feeling her nipples tingle from the sound of his heavy breathing. He sucked on her neck, pressing his naked chest against the oily skin of her back as he murmured senseless endearments between kisses and nips. His hands caressed from her hips, massaging over her sides, to her shoulders, and she loved the feeling of complacency rising up in her. He snaked his palms over her arms and let them glide down until he held her wrists loosely in his hands. Eyes squeezed shut, Hermione smiled, cherishing the weight of his slim body and the velvety warmth of his cock nestled between her arse cheeks. She wiggled a little, grinning at the groan against her ear. Opening her eyes slightly, she caught a glimpse of light hair on his right arm. Moving to lift her head, she twisted her arms to free them from his hold on her wrists and looked over her—

"Happy birthday, Hermione!"

She jerked up with a gasp, focusing slowly on Ginny, who was holding a small cake with candles on it. The younger girl plopped down on the edge of the bed, grinning in obvious smugness at Hermione's early morning grumpiness.

"Come on, make a wish and blow them out! Then we both can have a piece before breakfast."

Hermione humoured her, wishing for good marks. As the dream didn't fade into nothingness, she wondered if the nondescript boy was based on anyone in particular or if her brain had made up its own ideal man.

ooOoOoOoo

September 19th, 1997 - Hermione’s 18th birthday

Hermione threw her cover to the side. The heat incited by his roaming hands was becoming unbearable; stifling a loud moan, she spread her thighs wider. He kissed the crease between her leg and her torso, hands stroking over her damp skin. With every circle his fingers made over her hips and thighs, he trailed closer and closer to her core, then back to the insides of her upper thighs. He lightly teased the sensitive patch at the back of her left knee, just where her name was branded onto her skin in his handwriting. She arched her back at the electrifying sensation when he pressed his digits into the letters.

"Please," she whimpered, eliciting only a chuckle from him before he nibbled on her labia. Feeling the moisture pool between her legs, she lifted her head to get a glimpse of what he was doing, but threw it back when he suckled on her inner lips. His fingers continued to trace patterns over her skin until one moved to her cunt and circled her entrance with the lightest of touches. He said something she didn't understand, inching a finger into her while he flicked the tip of his tongue over her clit. Yelping at the unexpected surge of pleasure, she gripped the smooth linen beneath her as she buried her other hand in his soft hair. Desire wound up in her belly, ready to spring, when he did something with his mouth she couldn't describe. It wouldn't take long for her to finally—

Alarm blaring from her wand, Hermione slapped her hand against it to shut it off. She blinked her eyes open, shivering in the cold of the foggy morning. The rough canvas ceiling of their tent came into focus as she slowly found her bearings. Nearby, Ron snored softly, while Harry prepared tea for her turn of keeping watch. The water from his _Aguamenti_ tinkled into the aluminium kettle he held in his left hand.

Pulling up her blanket from the end of the cot, she burrowed in again for just another five minutes, ignoring the slickness between her thighs and the lingering image of blond.

ooOoOoOoo

September 19th, 1998 - Hermione’s 19th birthday

"For Godric's sake, go to bed, Hermione."

She looked up with burning eyes and shook her head.

Harry sat down next to her on the narrow bench of the rented room. Curling his arm around her back, he pulled her close to him. "Nightmares?"

Shoulders slumped, Hermione nodded but did not articulate the horrors she had relived on so many nights. Swallowing her longing for a good night’s rest, just as she did nearly every other night, she explained, "Dreamless Sleep Potions have lost their efficacy."

"Shit." He raked his free hand through his dark hair, mussing it up even more than usual. "I can wake you when you get restless, if you like."

She freed herself from his soothing embrace with a glare. "Don't you think I've tried everything imaginable?"

"I—" Harry started and paused, pressing his lips together. "I'm sorry for dragging you into all this, Hermione. I—"

She cut him off with a hiss. "Don't. _You_ didn't _Crucio_ me. Bellatrix Lestrange did. And nobody was able to stop her."

"If Malfoy—"

She rubbed her left forearm. The foul word carved there was itchy and bothered her as it often did. "You told me yourself how terrified he was when he couldn't kill Professor Dumbledore. I don't know what he saw happening at his home, but the horror in his eyes—" She paused for a few moments, head down, while she toyed with a loose thread on her jacket. Looking back up to Harry's eyes, she continued, "I don't want to know what he saw. But I don't think he'd have managed to keep his wand straight, not to mention defeat his batshit-crazy bitch of an aunt."

He observed her closely, grabbing both of her shaking hands and squeezing them. "You need to talk at his trial."

She nodded, wiping a stray tear from her face.

ooOoOoOoo

September 19th, 1999 - Hermione’s 20th birthday

Stumbling against the wall, Hermione giggled as she dragged Zacharias to the door.

"Are you sure?" he asked, running his fingertips along her cheekbone.

"Of course," she mumbled, pressing a too-sloppy kiss onto his lips.

The pain was much more than a sting; it felt like a rush of unpleasantness through her bones, lingering for hours when the dullness of her core had long since abated.

At least it kept her from dreaming.

ooOoOoOoo

September 17th, 2000 - prior to Hermione’s 21st birthday

Hermione had dreaded her birthdays since she'd turned eighteen. Or, more specifically, since Ginny had spotted the mark on the back of Hermione's knee, which had led to her asking about the dreams. The younger girl had broken an unspoken taboo with her question, and Hermione supposed it only belied her eagerness to meet her own soulmate for the first time on the night of her own seventeenth birthday. After the uncomfortable encounter, Hermione made sure to keep her mark covered at all times.

Squaring her shoulders, she raised her hand to rap on the sturdy wooden door to Headmistress McGonagall's office. The headmistress had decided to relocate her office after she had been instated, allegedly having been heard mumbling some things about statue-nonsense, too many stairs, and new wallpapers. The door swung open at the older witch's spoken assent, to reveal a dark, meticulously tidy desk and a cosy settee. A low table was decked out in a tea set and sandwiches.

"Hermione, it's good to see you." Minerva accepted her hand with one brusque shake. "Please, take a seat, and we'll discuss your request."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, stuffing the pliable, tartan-patterned pillow behind her back as she sat down on the small sofa, reaching immediately for the teapot. She watched the amber liquid flowing into the thin-walled porcelain cups, careful to hold her hands steady to avoid spillage. "I'm aware that this is quite uncommon."

A couple of long moments passed where the headmistress seemed to appraise her while she steadily stirred the dollop of honey into her tea. Despite the vague familiarity the two women had built during her eighth year, Hermione's hands trembled, the sound of the _clink_ of her cup on the saucer testament of her meticulously controlled emotions. "I've done research, a lot of it; worked through every book I could get my hands on. I've talked to bearers and experts. I've written letters to known and unknown wizards. This _longing_ , Minerva, I—"

The older woman fidgeted, but where others would have reached their hand across the short distance of the table for a comforting gesture, she stiffened her back instead. Her voice hitched just a little, when she said, "I know."

Hermione looked at her and felt her eyes sting. She choked out, "Will it ever stop?"

"No," Minerva admitted. "But it's only one night per year, and it will get dimmer as time passes. Though, I do think you're still too young to give up hope. _My_ soulmate," she paused, swallowing a deep breath, "is married with children."

Noting the pinch around Minerva's lips, Hermione asked, "You know who he is?"

"I know who _she_ is. At least, I think so, but I don't know whether she knows. We never—" she paused again, whether she took a small sip to moisten her vocal chords or to cover her pain, Hermione couldn't fathom. "We never frequented the same circles. Hated each other, in fact, during school. And there are unbreakable pure-blood contracts amongst the old families, so even if we—" Minerva shook her head. "Needless to say, it never came to fruition."

Hermione sighed, her hopes crushed. "It really doesn't help that for the full effect of the bond, both have to acknowledge it and physically touch the other's mark."

Minerva shook her head once more, slowly, and poured them a second cup each. "It doesn't."

"It's not only one night," Hermione murmured as she observed the rising tendrils of steam off her freshly filled cup.

Lifting her head up from her spoon-stirring, the headmistress met her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I haven't dreamed on my birthday for two years."

"That's not healthy—"

Intercepting the other witch with a raised hand, Hermione added, "The bond is there, constantly, but out of reach. It's like my whole being is missing a vital part. I'm happy and sad like normal people are, I have… _encounters_ , and I have a job which fulfills me. But there's a hole inside of me I can't fill with anything. The dreams occur without pattern, but while short, they’re intense. It's driving me barmy."

"You _need_ to dream on your birthday, child. Don't avoid it." Minerva took a bigger gulp of tea in lieu of her usual dainty sips before clearing her throat. "It is soon, if I remember correctly?"

"Yes."

She looked uncomfortable, but Minerva pushed on. "Do you need somebody to watch over you?"

Hermione blushed, remembering the still-present details of her two first souldreams. "I— no. No, I will be fine. I think."

The headmistress looked relieved, and Hermione hated her a little for it.

ooOoOoOoo

September 19th, 2000 - Hermione’s 21st birthday

Hermione moaned, her eyelids pressed shut as he prodded her entrance with the head of his cock. Shifting in her position on her hands and knees, she pressed her arse a little backwards to spur him on, eager as she was to feel him fill her.

He slid inside of her and bottomed out with a feral sound, holding onto her hips with a vice-like grip as she clenched the silky sheets with both hands. Feeling him pull out slowly, she craved a forceful push, but all he did was rest the head inside of her just so, driving her to madness.

"Come on," she demanded. Yet, he only stroked his palms from her hips over the curve of her bum.

Hooking his thumbs under her cheeks, he pulled them a little apart. Dragging the pads of his fingers along her slick labia, he groaned, gritting out a string of curses. His hand smacked her arse, making her inhale sharply before he massaged over the sting, only to lean on her back and grab both of her breasts with spread fingers.

Hermione keened as he picked up his pace, hearing his moans from behind her every time her cunt closed up around him. Her nipples were fastly locked and pinched between his fingers, and whenever he kneaded her breasts, the sensation of it made her pant out loud. Kissing her neck, he lay his head between her damp shoulder-blades, fingers tugging and twisting at her nipples until the gentlest touch on her dark, rosy peaks would send a jolt of passion directly to her core.

She wondered if he knew who she was, and if he did, why he'd never sought her out. However, those dark thoughts were quickly banished to the back of her mind as she relished the feeling of him hitting the sweet spot inside of her over and over again. Her hand sneaked between her legs, rubbing frantically to reach her climax.

He bit into the flesh between her neck and her shoulder when she came, then expelled a slew of groans as he stilled and shivered behind her. Laying his weight on her, he made her puff and press flat onto the bed.

With a sated sigh, she smiled and stretched her arms above her head. His hands worked along her arms, moving slowly from the curves of her shoulders, over her elbows, and down to her wrists. Hermione opened her bleary eyes, content in the aftermath of an excellent orgasm, until she jerked up with a violent choke at the dreadful sight in front of her face. Her vision pinpointed in on the skull of the Dark Mark staring back at her, as if it was mocking her and everything she'd gone through.

Death Eater. Blond.

 _Malfoy_.


	2. Chapter 2

ooOoOoOoo

September 2000 - after Hermione’s 21st birthday

"You!" she hissed, barely restraining herself from poking her finger into him in the middle of the Ministry’s Atrium. It had not taken her long to find out that he had bi-weekly meetings with the Department of International Magical Cooperation.

Malfoy whipped around, and after an imperceptibly unsure second, raised one groomed eyebrow. "Granger," he retorted evenly. "To what do I owe the honour?"

"Do not. Think me. _Stupid_ , Malfoy. You know _exactly_ why I'm here."

A hint of understanding flitted across his features.

"Not here," he pressed out, his eyes darting over the throng of people passing various junctions and travel points.

Furrowing her brow, Hermione dug her teeth into her lower lip. "Neutral ground.”

He tilted his head in agreement. "Expect my owl in the afternoon."

She grunted and turned around sharply, imagining his gaze lingering on her as she stormed away, and hoping he felt the same longing she'd suffered for the past few years.

ooOoOoOoo

September 2000 - after Hermione’s 21st birthday

Hermione waited until the waiter had pushed her chair in for her and accepted the menu. Skimming the list of beverages, she pettily ordered the most expensive red wine they had, before Malfoy could say anything. He only rolled his eyes, placing a much more specific order for himself.

The atmosphere would have been nice if it weren’t for the reason they were there. Muted beiges on the walls harmonised well with the contrasting, dark wooden frames of the paintings and the elegant decorations on the carmine dining table, while the cutlery was polished to a perfect shine. The soft flickers of the long, burgundy candles in the candelabras created a welcoming ambiance, and they reflected in the silverware, throwing glittering spears of light throughout the room.

Malfoy had secured a discreet room apart from the main dining space. Discreet enough that it had a separate floo they both had come through. He was good at keeping secrets, Hermione assumed, considering he had somehow managed to keep most of his business out of the newspapers, despite the rare pictures of him with his current conquest.

Her chest became narrow at the thought, and she took a deep breath. "You must really hate me to refuse such a magical bond."

Pausing his perusal of the leather-bound menu with its golden imprint, Malfoy pursed his lips before retorting, "Our school animosities have nothing to do with that."

"But your blood-supremacist views do," she accused, only remaining quiet because she expected the waiter to come back at any time.

Malfoy stared at her, his features unamused as he rejoined, "Fucking hell, Granger. You haven't seen me in years. I'll thank you for not attacking me with the first words you speak. Especially since I'm paying for your wine."

"I don't need your money," she snarled.

"Too bad for you then that to even be put on the guest list here, you either need to have a renowned mountain of gold at your disposal or hand in a certificate from Gringotts to prove that you're able to pay your bill. _I_ pay, Granger."

Hermione grit her teeth as the waiter returned to serve their drinks.

Completely ignoring her, the short man turned away and said, "Mr Malfoy, may I take your order?"

Malfoy observed her for a few seconds, then he decided, "Duck a l’orange for Miss Granger, the trout for me. We'll decide about dessert later."

"A good choice, sir. Thank you." The waiter collected their menus and closed the door to the room behind him.

Hermione fixed Malfoy with an angry stare. "You don't even know what I like. Why did you go and order for me?"

"I know a few things, Granger." His lips twitched as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and folding his fingers under his chin. "Do you want me to recite them?"

"The list can't be very long, can it?"

"You're a fiend for teasing. You like it when a bloke sucks your clit between his lips and then flicks the tip of his tongue over it again and again. There's a very responsive spot behind your knee which—"

Feeling her face aflame, she interrupted him before he could reveal more. "That's the mark. My name in what I suppose is your handwriting. Where's your mark? Is it the same spot?"

He leaned back in his chair, fingering his buttons only a little but enough to draw her attention to it. "Seeing is believing, isn't it, Granger?"

"I am not going to hike my skirt up for you. You're more delusional than I thought to even _suggest_ —"

"I meant for _you_ to see."

Hermione closed her mouth. She wasn't sure if she was prepared for the truth yet. For a hot second, she considered stepping back, going through the dream once a year and letting that be the end of it all. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that she was not the type to shy away when it got unpleasant. "Then show me."

He licked his lips, running his eyes over her face. Then he opened the top three buttons of his shirt, his fingers faltering at the last one before he pushed the fabric over his left shoulder. Trailing the tops of his fingers along the dark grey writing at the crest of his shoulder, he watched her with a challenge in his eyes.

She stared back. The scene could have been hilarious, or at least very weird, if it wasn't about the quest for everlasting contentedness or something like that. Exhaling deliberately, Hermione closed her eyes for a few moments, then resolutely shoved her chair backwards and walked over to hover next to him.

His skin was gleaming with a hint of sweat, sandalwood and lemon from his cologne wafting into her nose as she focused on the letters branded into his skin. The anthracite ink stood out against the pale canvas of his skin.

In her tidy, small-script handwriting, the words _Draco Malfoy_ were criss-crossed by silvery scars, and she recoiled with a feeling which resembled a heavy punch to her gut.

"You tried to get rid of it. You tried to get rid of your soulmate. Of _me_."

He tugged his shirt up again, covering his now crimson neck as he closed all buttons with fumbling fingers. "Don't pretend you've never thought about it. I know you did."

"But I'd never—" her voice trailed off. She still stood next to him, like a little girl lost in the horror of an adult's offhanded remark. Her eyes _did not_ sting with the rejection, not at all, and she sniffed through her suddenly stuffy nose.

Pressing her mouth into a line to stop it from trembling, she only paid attention to the fireplace. She heard him calling out for her the second she threw in the floo powder and got sucked through the tube of bodiless transportation.

She called in sick for two days.

ooOoOoOoo

October 2000 - after Hermione’s 21st birthday

Considering how much she loathed being Malfoy's soulmate, she did not understand why the thought of him attempting to erase her from his skin, from his _whole being_ , disturbed her so much.

Over the past four weeks, she had sent an unfamiliar owl back with its unopened letter a couple of times, and it seemed the bird had finally started to give up its efforts. Or maybe _he_ had. Her home and her office were unplottable, anyway; if it weren't for her status as war heroine—a term she seriously hated—it surely was for being an Unspeakable.

So it came as an unwelcome surprise when he suddenly stood next to her at Honeydukes as she was getting sweets for her visit to Andromeda and Teddy.

"Weren't you even curious in the slightest at what I might've wanted to write you?"

Hermione stared straight ahead at the display of cheery chocolate frogs, gripping one in her hand until it squeaked. She let it fall, where it hopped away with a Hermione-fist shaped dent, leaving a trail of chocolate splinters on the floor, before turning to face Malfoy fully. "I believe you drew the line quite clearly, didn't you?"

He huffed. "No."

"Do you need me to _count_ the lines you've drawn?"

"Those have nothing to do with today, Granger," he grit out.

A small throng of people had started to gather around them. Outwardly, all of them appeared to be browsing the various sweets, but it was more than obvious they were trying to eavesdrop. Hermione pulled her wand out and cast a silencing spell.

"Explain yourself," she demanded.

Malfoy's eyebrow cocked sharply. "Here?"

"My spellcasting is above average, Malfoy. Nobody will hear."

"And everybody will see."

"Are you afraid your pristine pure-blooded reputation will suffer if you're caught talking to me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Have you missed how the tides have turned, Granger?"

"Of course not. I was riding the wave."

"How would you—" He shook his head. "Nevermind. Fact is, we pure-bloods are a dying breed."

Hermione snorted.

"But the Malfoys didn't survive for over a millennium because we weren't able to adapt."

Losing the remnants of her patience, she got ready to dissolve the lowest threads of her silencing spell. "Of course. If that's all—"

"Granger." He gripped her forearm, effectively halting her movement, and she stared at the pale fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeve. Despite the cloth separating them, she could feel his body heat. It was eerily familiar, causing the longing to tug at her soul again until it hurt, and she twisted her arm away to disconnect them.

"I'm not a convenient addendum to drag your family out of the hole it dug for itself and lift you back into the Wizarding’s world’s good graces. I believe we're done here," she spat out. Grabbing her selections, she steered towards the counter to pay for them. Annoyingly, Malfoy didn't seem to get the hint.

"No, we're not done here! On the contrary, we're just beginning."

"You wish!"

"And you wish, too." He pulled at her shoulder with force, turning her around in the process. "I can see it in your eyes."

She faltered, closing her mouth again after having opened it to release a string of scathing words.

"Did you know my parents were soulbound?" He stepped closer, dissuading her from her way to the counter and maneuvering her into an aisle which wasn't as crowded as the rest of the store. Onlookers were watching them with trepidation, more than one hand playing with its wand. "Do you know what they went through while You-Know-Who reigned over Malfoy Manor?"

"What, like torturing and killing Muggles for fun?"

A prominent vein on the right side of his forehead filled with blood and his lips pulled back in a sneer. "Why did you even speak at my trial? It seems you've lied in front of court."

She spluttered. "I did not—"

"—typical Gryffindor prejudices against Slytherins or is it just your—"

"Of course, you would bring that up at some point. Like Houses would define—"

"—don't even know why I want to make an effort when you so obviously—"

"Effort? _Effort?_ To polish up your family name, to be accepted in your oh-so-important social circles again, maybe. Not with me!"

He growled, invading her space until his upper body was flush with hers. She didn't give one centimetre, although she had to crane her neck upwards to see his eyes. His pupils were wide, but the stormy grey had turned into a flaming turquoise; Hermione swore she could see the flecks of various shades of blue dancing across his iris. Unbecoming red spots decorated his cheeks.

"Don't goad me, Granger. You've no clue what a soulbond means to old Wizarding families."

Hermione pressed her lips together, wondering if Minerva didn’t know about this potential importance due to her half-blood heritage. Focusing back on Malfoy, she spat out, "I've done enough research to see right through your illicit motives."

"All you've shown so far is that you are a stubborn, prejudiced bint who clings to the past like an eighty year old spinster."

With a shriek of indignation, she swung her bag and hit his arm. "I do not!"

The rustle of the impact sounded unexpectedly loud, and when Hermione cast a quick look around, she saw the other customers and even the employees of the sweets store watching them like hawks. Most of them had their wands present, or at least at the opening of a pocket. She realised that they must have heard the last few sentences, if not more. Shame fired up her face as she skimmed the crowd for someone she knew, or worse, a journalist.

" _Above-average spellcasting,_ my arse," he ground out. He straightened imaginary wrinkles out of his robes. "My mother died three months ago, and I've sold the manor. You know how to find me. If you don't—" He swallowed and averted his eyes for a few seconds until he fixed her with a stare. With a slight tilt of his head towards her in acknowledgement, he headed for the shop entrance and left without a second glance.

Hermione purchased her presents with a burning face, refusing to back down because of a public argument.

Funny how his retreat had not given her any sense of satisfaction. On the contrary, she felt emptier than ever before.

ooOoOoOoo

September 19th, 2001 - Hermione’s 22nd birthday

This time, she'd anticipated the dream. Had even imagined how it would turn out, wondered if the positions would change, or if he would be rough due to her lack of contact. Had wondered if she'd come as hard as the last time, leaving her boneless and sweaty. Rare as it had been that the newspapers reported on Malfoy before, they were eerily silent now, and she was anxious to know if he was dating anyone.

No dream came that night.

She felt the yearning more than ever in an agonising, _physical_ way. As she wrote out a note the next morning, she took a couple of deep breaths to work through it. The longing had been subtle in the past year, reflected in the quick scans she gave the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ to gauge his relationship status, and the occasional dreams she had of him. It was in how she’d felt her heartbeat increase that time she'd seen him at the Ministry's Yule Ball, where he’d only acknowledged her with a neutral 'Granger' and a handshake because she'd happened to be standing next to Harry at that moment.

It wouldn't do for him to be so collected and unaffected while she had to suffer and ponder and imagine and _think_.

Her owl came back, the seal unbroken. She swept the letters and quills off her desk in a fit of sudden anger.

 

ooOoOoOoo

June 5th, 2002 - Draco's 22nd birthday

Full of rage—and craving, although that was something she wouldn't admit out loud—Hermione marched past the protesting secretary. The too-blond, too-sleek woman spluttered, but Hermione did not care in the slightest.

What she did care about was the dream she'd had last night.

She shoved the door to Draco's office open, half expecting to find him in the throes of an—illicit, of course—love affair he'd hidden from the public. But the only thing she discovered was a messy desk, a pot of tea... and Draco, who jerked his head up and narrowed his eyes at her. To say that his demeanour was less than welcoming was an understatement.

"What do you want? And how did you get past my secretary?"

Hermione propped her hands on the edge of his desk, glancing across the hodgepodge of documents spread over his desk. "I walked past her. You should employ somebody not as easily flustered by mere fame and an Order of Merlin, and with more magical prowess instead of looks."

His face became smug, acquiring an almost smarmy mien. "She might serve as… more… than a secretary, you know."

Hermione growled at him, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the rash words inside of her. The door to his office still stood open, and she could almost sense the extendable ears his _help_ likely used to catch every word. A flick of her wand swung the door shut with a bang.

Before she could silence it, he waved his wand, muttering a silencing spell. "I've seen your proficiency with those kinds of spells before. Let me take care of it."

He settled into his comfy chair while she stood awkwardly in front of him. Not willing to give an inch, she fixed him with a stare. "Your birthday today, Malfoy?"

He lifted one corner of his mouth, though she wasn't quite sure if it would turn into a sneer or a smile. "Are you bringing presents? Your hands are so empty, Granger."

Hermione grit her teeth and straightened her back. "I propose lunch, _birthday boy_."

Something flitted over his face, but he schooled it into arrogant indifference before she could decipher it. "To what end?"

She shifted her weight and pressed her tongue against the bottom row of her teeth for a moment. "You said soulbonds are important to pure-bloods."

"And you couldn't sleep for more than a year to go and ask me about it? Fuck you. It's obvious that this isn't important to you."

Hermione rubbed a hand across her forehead. "It is," she pressed out. "Important, I mean."

"And why might that be? Another notch in your ever-growing post of knowledge?"

She took a pile of letters off the only other chair in the room, plopping the heap on top of another one on his desk. The stack wobbled precariously, but a sharp look submitted it into compliance. Hermione sat and, after watching his unmoving facial expression, leaned back and crossed her arms.

"Of all the things I've found out, our bond seems to be different from what people usually experience." She examined him, watching his lips press into a thin, white line. "Unmated soulmates dream of each other once a year, and only on the night of their birthday. It doesn't seem to be necessary for the other one to be dreaming, either. And the rest of the year, they are fine, no matter the deep emotional hurt during that day."

"You're not telling me anything new, you know," he drawled.

Hermione rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "I'm getting there. What did you dream about last night, Malfoy? Some sort of wish-fulfillment? Because I dreamt that—" She faltered, sucking her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. "—that I was wooing you, piling all kind of presents on you, taking you out, letting you bend me all over your…" Her voice trailed off as she had a close look at his desk. She was unsure if she was blushing or if all colour had drained from her face as she recalled her skirt bunched around her hips while she had taken a pounding. For a split-second, her nose was assailed by his scent, mixed with the tell-tale smell of sex.

Ignoring the smug twist of Malfoy's mouth, she ploughed on. "It's not normal to dream like that on the other's birthday. Neither is it normal to dream of one another frequently during the year. I wonder if it requires us both to be asleep at the same time, and to be in a certain state of mind?"

His pale eyebrows rose. "A certain state of mind? Pray tell, Granger, aren't you getting any?"

Her eyes narrowed. "As much as you, obviously."

He snorted and crossed his arms while he leaned back in his leather chair. "Not paying much attention to the magazines, then?"

"They're quite mum, aren't they?"

"So, you _do_ scrutinise them for information about me." He didn't even make an attempt at hiding his conceited gratification.

Hermione grit her teeth, having already revealed more than she wanted, but realised that denying it wouldn't get her far. "We should get to the bottom of what's happening to us."

"There's nothing _happening_ , Granger. It's a fucking soulbond which is unfulfilled." He absentmindedly brushed his fingers over the covered mark on his shoulder, though he stiffened when he realised his movements. "Not everything is a big, exciting secret. There's no deeper mystery to us, despite the fact that the magic obviously thought we would make a good match. If I didn't have so much respect for the ancient roots of magic, I'd say it lacks common sense."

Hermione gaped at him. "But the patterns are different! I've talked to McGo—a friend who isn't soulmated, and it's completely different for her."

"You've got a report from one person out of thousands, Granger."

"And in all the books and journals I've read, there wasn't one incident like our situation!"

He fixed her with a bored look. "Or maybe you didn't have access to _all_ of the sources."

She threw her hands up, her voice getting louder. "Why aren't you interested in solving this?"

"Because you don't want the only solution to it!" he roared, slapping the palms of his hand on his armrests in a surprising outburst.

She flopped back in the chair, the sheer force of Malfoy's emotions taking her breath away. Clenching her jaw to hold in the words which would only make everything worse, Hermione tried to work through her anger. She felt an unwelcome prickling at the root of her nose and swallowed down the lump forming in her throat.

Malfoy took a couple of slow breaths, watching her intently until he loosened the armrests of his chair from his white-knuckled grip.

"Should we give in?" Her eyes darted downward to her lap, where her fingers toyed with the hem of her blouse. "One night?"

"No," he retorted instantly.

"Why not? What could make it worse?"

"I would expect more common sense from somebody dubbed the ‘Brightest Witch of her Age’," he huffed, leaning forward and resting his arms on the heavy oak of the table in front of him. "Getting one taste of perfection, just to never have it again? I have more self-preservation than that, Granger."

Hermione chewed the inside of her lip, frantically looking for a way out of this messy situation.

With a levelled glance, he added, "I might be generous enough to give another dinner a try."

Bristling at his choice of words, she gritted out, "Okay. But I choose the location."

He only shrugged, but she could've sworn there was a flash of victory in his eyes.

ooOoOoOoo

June 2002 - after Draco's 22nd birthday

His wry smile told her that he realised this was also a test. "I'd expected a more… intimate setting."

Hermione tilted her head in acknowledgement, handing her coat to the wardrobe wizard, and turned to the politely waiting attendant. "Granger, two persons. I asked for a quiet booth."

The waiter nodded and led them through the bustling Italian restaurant, which fell quiet despite the excited whispering and the heavy clinks of kitchenware from the adjoining room, as they made their way to the side of the place.

"Worried what the _Prophet_ will have on their front-page tomorrow?" Pulling her shirt back down from where it had ridden up her wide hips, she took a seat.

"No more than you," he replied.

She raised a mocking eyebrow but did not comment; instead, she skimmed the menu and said, "You can even choose your own meal, Malfoy."

"Oh no. That's your job for tonight." He relaxed on the bench, observing her through half-lidded eyes.

For a moment, she considered ordering the worst thing she could find on the shiny pages in front of her, but refused to give in to the seductive pettiness. He liked fish, she remembered, so she ordered the smoked salmon for both of them, and a matching bottle of wine.

Hermione cleared her throat, searching for the right words so as not to steer the evening into disaster like last time. "Have you done any research yourself?"

"Oh my, thank you for asking. I had a pretty successful week at work, and now I'm looking forward to a relaxing weekend. How about you?" he said, sarcasm dripping off his words like sticky treacle.

"I—" She paused, her collar getting too tight for the heat crawling up her neck. "I'm glad to hear that. My week was average, but I'm not allowed to talk about it."

"Right," he said, then he sighed. "Of course I've done research of my own. How come it took you so long to figure out it was me?"

"The first two dreams were interrupted. The following two, I didn't sleep."

"You daft witch! That's made everything worse. Did nobody tell you? There must have been soulmates in the Order—"

"There was a war, and I had other things to take care of!"

"And then you got caught, and I had to watch you getting carved up by my aunt!"

"You could have helped me, you know?"

"Voldemort would've known immediately that there was a connection between us. He enjoyed using it against my parents… a lot, believe me, and my mother suffered from it until her death. Why do you think I tried to cut the mark off of my body?" He raked his fingers through his hair. It stood up a little after that, and it softened his appearance. "No, I could not have helped you."

Hermione closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. "Since when have you known?"

"First dream," he admitted. "That revelation came pretty unwelcome. I was occupied by other things."

"The Vanishing Cabinet," she breathed. "And your attempts to kill Dumbledore."

He nodded, wincing. "But the more frequent dreams only came later. That must have been when you refused the magic."

She cocked her head. "But only for two years."

"Two years too many."

"How are we going about this mess?"

Something glittered in his eyes. "With lunch on Wednesday?"

The corner of her lips turned up. "Okay."

 

ooOoOoOoo

September 2002 - prior to Hermione’s 23rd birthday

Hermione took the seat by the window, just like she always did when they met here. They had established an unexpectedly easy rapport over the past few months, scattered with the occasional argument about blood supremacy, potioneering, and the latest developments in paleomagics.

The waitress approached her with a polite smile and Hermione ordered tea for herself and Malfoy. Having chosen her lunch already, she glanced at her wristwatch and at the door. He was normally very punctual, either from his upbringing or because he simply couldn't stand to wait, she wasn't sure. In the rare case that one of them was late, it was her.

He never showed up.


	3. Chapter 3

ooOoOoOoo

September 2002 - prior to Hermione’s 23rd birthday

With the same angry dedication she'd shown only two months ago, Hermione stomped across the lavish antechamber leading to Malfoy’s office and past the secretary. Stopping abruptly, her eyes swept over the loose strands of the woman’s blonde hair and the skewed collar of her probably overpriced silk shirt. With a jolt, Hermione became aware of her own simple cotton blouse and standard slacks, which paled against the other woman's ridiculously stylish clothing. Her eyes darted to the door at the end of the hallway, which stood slightly ajar, then back to the secretary.

She felt blood pounding in her temples and dread pressing on her chest. Snarling, she smacked the door open to reveal Malfoy bowed over a long piece of parchment with a quill in his hand. Hermione sniffed the air and immediately connected the cloying flowery scent to the bint outside the office.

"What's the matter _now_ —" he started, but was cut off by the sound of his office door slamming shut.

"We had a da—" Hermione cut herself off just in time, to continue with a slightly different phrasing, "meeting. At twelve. It's one o'clock."

"Shit. I'm sorry. Something came up. Didn't you get my owl?"

Emphasising a black look towards the door and the person sitting on the other side of it, she snipped, "I'm sure it did."

He pushed the parchment he'd been working on into the middle of the table, focusing on her fully. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, really," she replied, crossing her arms in front of her as she stood next to his desk.

His lips thinned. "I don't like your tone."

"Oh, really? I don't like being taken for a fool."

"You show up at my work, accusing me of who-knows-what. What's wrong with you?"

"Oh, please," she ground out. " _She_ didn't even try to cover up your tryst."

"Our wha—" Furrowing his brows, he followed the finger which Hermione had pointed at the door in accusation. In a single, swift movement, he stood from his chair and loomed over her. "You think I have something going on with _Sandra_?"

"Her perfume practically suffuses your office," she replied, jutting her chin out in defiance.

"Right." Squinting at her, he said, "I must have devoured her in this room then. All the lunches and dinners spent with you were really just a ruse to cover up my illicit affair of fucking my hare-brained secretary."

Hermione's brain short-circuited as she imagined _Sandra_ bent over that desk. With an indignant scowl, she grabbed his head with both hands, yanked him down to her eye level, and planted her mouth onto his.

Draco spluttered a little at the unexpected kiss, but a second later, responded with a nip to her bottom lip. Observing his closing eyes through her slitted ones, she pushed her tongue into his mouth, meeting his in a heated dance.

He hummed in response to her muffled moan for a moment until he grabbed her hips and pressed his body against hers. The feeling of his erection sent a thrilling shiver down her spine. In a frenzy, she rushed her palms over his face and neck, moving down his collarbone until her hand pawed his chest. She pulled his lower lip between hers, sweeping the tip of her tongue along it and tasting the tea and chocolate he must have had earlier. His eager response calmed down her angry momentum more than words might have been able to, opening her mind up to just enjoy the feel of him.

Instigating a slower pace, he trailed a line of kisses to the corner of her eye, then down the side of her face until he reached the edge of her jaw. Her pulse fluttered under his caresses and she could feel herself getting wet. As he proceeded to suck on her skin, Hermione was only too willing to tilt her head and give him better access. A content feeling spread through her.

"That was overdue," he mumbled against her skin, his breath hot and moist.

Hermione knitted her brows, pulling away from him. "You never hinted—"

"Oh-fucking- _please_ ," he grumbled. "Why do you think I'd meet a pretty witch two or three times a week? For months?"

"You never claimed exclusiveness," Hermione objected, scraping her fingernails down his torso until they hit the waistband of his dark grey slacks. Yanking on his shirt, she freed it from its confinement, ghosting a hand over his hard cock.

"It was implied. Heavily." He slightly bit into the crook of her neck while his fingers moved under her blouse, skimming over her abdomen. The contact automatically made her suck in her soft stomach. He hushed her with a soothing sound, lightly pinching her hips before both of his palms slid slowly up her sides.

“You’re going to leave a hell of a mark,” she sighed with a slight tremble as he increased the force of his sucking. A whiff of sandalwood mixed with his scent wafted to her nose and she took a deep, appreciative breath.

“Tell me if it’s too painful,” he mumbled into her neck, easing up.

“I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?” She yelped when he nipped her harshly, which quickly turned into a moan as he laved the flat of his tongue across the spot. Squirming under the wonderful assault, she felt more heat pooling between her thighs.

Snaking both hands under the wiring of her bra to shove it up, he thumbed her nipples, drawing slow circles around the puckered peaks. Twisting them slightly, he took her hiss of pleasure as encouragement to enhance the pressure. In response, her fingers slipped between the buttons of his shirt, opening one after the other until she could push it off his shoulders.

Immediately, she latched her mouth on his shoulder, tongue tracing along the letters of his name depicted in her handwriting. He shuddered, groaning and moving one hand from her breast to fist into her hair. As his hard length pressed into her stomach, her lower body undulated against him. Tracing the tip of his tongue from her neck to her mouth, he kissed her again with fervour, while she grazed her nails over his chest.

She hooked her thumbs under the hem of his waistband, working at the button and zipper with nimble fingers until she could yank his trousers over his hips. With little fanfare, they fell to the floor. His fervidity was obvious when he also promptly got rid of his shoes and socks, while uttering a colourful curse under his breath.

Successfully distracting him from his fight with his clothes, she stroked his cock through his silk boxers, earning her a sound of satisfaction from him. A spot of moisture was just noticeable on the fabric where the head pressed against it. She smiled at the knowledge that he was just as turned on as she was. The lace of her knickers was sticky with her wetness, sliding over her slit with her every movement and creating a delightful friction.

Growing impatient, she guided his hand from her tangled hair and dragged it down to the waistband of her slacks. He got the unsubtle hint at once, flicking her trousers open and snaking his finger under the fabric of her underwear. Inhaling sharply when he felt the extent of her wetness, she was already toeing off her moderate heels as he took his other hand from her breast and used both to tug her trousers and underwear down her legs. Hermione stepped out of the heap of discarded clothes. She was thankful that the blinds were drawn on his office window as she haphazardly threw off her blouse and bra, too.

He wrapped one of her legs around his waist and traced his fingertips along her labia, dipping shallowly into her just to swipe up and across her bundle of nerves. “Hot and wet, Granger. Just like I always imagined you’d be. So fucking sexy.”

Her core was aching for attention now, pulsing with anticipation.

Hermione moaned when he concentrated on her clit, only leaving off to sink two fingers deeper into her with every pass. Her breath hitched as he plunged one more finger into her, giving her a small taste of the expected stretch. She pulled his boxers down his thighs, effectively making his fingers slip out of her cunt. Looking up as she slowly sank down onto her knees, she left a line of pecks along the narrow trail of hair running down his lower abdomen until she reached his red-flushed cock. It bobbed against her face when she tilted her head down, peeking her tongue out to give the hard flesh a kitten lick. She laved him with broad swipes of her tongue, alternating between fingering the sensitive skin beneath the head and deliberate strokes along the shaft. As she could close her hand around it just so, the thought of him filling her sent another tingle to her clit. Drops of precome seeped from his cock, which she smeared over the swollen tip, watching him twitch and hearing him curse when she finally took him in her mouth.

A few bobs were all she granted him, feeling his whole body starting to tense with what must have been an impending climax.

“Fuck. Why did you stop?”

She got up, letting him press her against the wall. “I want to have you inside of me when you come for the first time.”

His grey irises were almost invisible around the blacks of his pupils. “Tell me there will be more than this one time.”

She looked up and gave him a mischievous smirk. “You’d better make it good for me if you want a repetition.”

“Minx,” he growled, cradling her cheek with one hand and kissing her.

She wrapped a thigh around his hip again and ground her wet core onto his cock, making him grope her arse and hips as he lifted her up. Her back rested on the rough wall behind her, a cool counterpoint to the immense heat between them. Pleasure lapped through her in waves; she just wanted to be full of him.

He spread her legs, looking down to where he lined up with her and slid in, inch by inch. She winced a little at the feel of his girth, but by the time he was settled fully inside of her, she was more than ready to be ravished.

“Shit,” she panted. “You feel so good.”

A grin flashing over his features, he pulled backward and slammed back into her, forcing the air out of her lungs and her back to rasp along the wall. His arms began to tremble as he held her up, her thighs about to slip from his grip. She pulled her wand out of the holster still in place on her left forearm, and forced out a choppy incantation while he kept fucking into her.

He eased his grip on her bum, letting her glide off his arms at the same time as she relaxed her tense muscles. Her body was now weightless from her levitation charm. With a yank, he lifted one of her thighs completely onto his shoulder, depositing the foot of the other leg on his hip and spreading her wide open again. He hit her deep now, dragging his cock over all the right spots with every thrust. Drawing circles with his hands over every bit of skin he could reach, he eventually stopped at her breasts. Tugging on her nipples in sync with his bucking hips, he rolled and pinched them until they ached with pleasure-pain. Hermione put both hands on his face, tilting his head up from his observance of their push and pull.

The slaps of their skin and the slick wetness between her legs echoed in her ears. “Does your secretary eavesdrop when you entertain your female visitors?”

He gazed at her in confusion, slowing down his movements. “I work here, Granger,” he panted. “This is an office, not a _love nest_.”

She shrugged, pressing her upper lip between her tongue and her teeth.

“Unless—” His eyes flickered to the door before he moved his mouth to her ear and whispered, “—you want me to lift the silencing charms?” He drove into her powerfully, causing a loud moan to spill from her lips.

“Yes,” she hissed, scratching her nails down his back until he shuddered.

Kissing her hard, he slipped out of her to stumble over to his desk and wave his wand, cancelling the charms. Hermione winced at the sudden coolness and the wanton display she must have presented with her back pressed against his office wall, legs spread as wide open as they could go. But she forgot her misgivings as soon as he neared her with a decidedly predatory gleam in his darkened eyes and slid into her easily. They resumed a fast pace, which she countered with noisy gasps.

“I'm not sure if your unexpected kinkiness is turning me more on, or if it's the possibility that you're staking me as your claim.”

She bit into his unmarked shoulder to stifle her sounds, but he would have none of that. He laid his hand on her cheek and guided her teeth off of him as he slowed down again.

“No, no, no,” he chided her with a playful lilt, punctuating every word with a deliberate thrust into her. “I didn’t just interrupt fucking into your pretty little cunt to have you go all silent now. Be a good girl and let Sandra know who I belong to. Along with everyone else passing my door.”

Loud, unintelligible sounds escaped her lungs with the next few slams of his hips as she felt her slickness trickle down the crack of her arse. She did not think she’d ever been so horny before.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he heaved shuddering breaths. His hand had found her nipples again, rolling them between his squeezing fingers, while the other one spread out on the side of her neck and face. A tantalising sensation shot between her legs, making her clench around his cock. His thumb stroked the edge of her jaw, and with a nip on first her upper lip, then the bottom, he leaned back to view again. She looked down, too, the flood of ardour she experienced amplified by the triple stimulation of hearing, feeling, and seeing him fuck into her.

Moving her hand down, she trailed it over his hand kneading her breast, over her abdomen, and to the apex of her thighs. Draco groaned, his eyes staring at her wandering fingers as he slowed down, dragging his thick cock out and pushing it back in. He removed the hand on her jaw to reach down, opening her labia on one side with an appreciative rumble in his chest. It was the sexiest single moment she’d ever experienced.

“Fuck,” she hissed as he traced a fingertip along her slit, slicking her fingers up with her arousal but without touching her clit. Her thighs tensed for a moment at her first circle over it, the exhilaration so intense it almost made her eyes roll into the back of her head.

“What do you need?” His eyes darted up, face pink with exertion and arousal.

Hermione increased the pressure of her fingertips, panting, “Nipples. Harder.”

A faint grin and a squeeze on one peak, followed by his teeth scraping over the other one, was all she got as acknowledgement. She wailed in pleasure as he nipped the stiff nub of flesh, pressing it harshly against the edge of his front teeth with his tongue. Rubbing her fingers over her clit almost mindlessly, she concentrated on the feeling of him pulling on her nipples with his fingers and his mouth. Her back arched as her walls began to flutter, dragging a loud whimper from her throat. Draco grunted against her chest, sucking on her hard enough to leave her sore and bruised. Her fingers pressed onto her clit, the movements only slight but strong, and she spasmed around him, bucking until her shoulders scraped painfully up the wall, and her legs locked, and then she came came _came_.

Draco had her flush against him, grinding his groin into her when she opened her eyes weakly. He trembled, cursing into the side of her neck in a rush of mumbled words as he climaxed deep inside of her. The knowledge that it was just as she had demanded earlier sent a deep-felt wave of gratification through her.

His fingertips dug into the back of her knee, just where her name was inked. In that moment, she noticed that her own fingers were latched on his shoulder, nails buried into the letters of his own mark. She grimaced at the crimson half-moons, carefully dislodging one after the other until he stilled her hand.

Rubbing his fingers over her mark caused an overwhelming wave of lust and affection to run through her body. Her eyes widened in understanding, and when she reciprocated the action, she felt his cock inside her grow hard again.

“Again?” she squeaked incredulously.

“Are you complaining already? Appreciate our magic bond,” he said, nibbling on her shoulder. Hermione felt her heart doing somersaults when he shot her a cheeky grin, dancing the tip of his tongue across the line of her lips.

For a split-second, she was overwhelmed by the nauseous sensation of free-falling as her levitation charm wore off. Draco caught her in his arms with an _umph_. Her back must have been totally scratched at this point, but the feeling of contentedness as he slid into her again was worth the stinging of her skin.

 _Maybe a fulfilled soulbond wouldn’t be so bad_.

Tearing his eyes away from watching how his cock buried itself in her, he leaned forward a little to kiss her languorously. Small kisses moved along the seams of her mouth and soft suckles spoiled her lips until he rested his forehead on hers. He continued to massage the back of her knee, where her name was inked into her skin in his handwriting. When he next spoke next, he said, “Hermione Granger, I acknowledge you as my soulmate.”

His own mark began to shine with the words, pulsing in the fast rhythm of her heart. She stared at her own handwriting, then fixed him with a glare. “And you didn't think to talk to me first before binding yourself to me?”

He held her faster, one arm wrapped around her, but she felt herself sliding out of his straining grip. Heaving her up again, he took a few steps back and cleared the surface with an impatient swipe of his arm, unmindful if his paperwork fell to the floor or not, before depositing her on his desk. Half of her grieved the work he’d have to repeat, but the other half relished his determination.

He moved in and out of her without deterrence. “Too much exposure to Gryffindors is damaging my brain, obviously.”

She snorted, digging her fingers into his mark. He moaned and hilted into her again, grazing all the right spots with the undulation of his hips.

“More like the Slytherin in you calculated I might feel obliged to follow your example.”

He hummed noncommittally, drilling into her with renewed vigour. Hermione held onto him, wrapping both of her arms around his neck while her leg hung down the edge of the table and the other was lodged in Draco’s grip. Her damp skin stuck on his, and she caught a salty drop of perspiration running down the side of his jaw with the tip of her tongue.

Kissing her again before he slid out and turned her around, he let her prop herself on her hands before entering her once more from behind. He set a slow, shallow pace, resting one hand on her hip as the other one caressed her back in wide circles.

“Did you like that dream we both had on my birthday? I tried to conjure it up more than once, but it seems your subconscious favoured other things.”

“Yes.” Hermione let out a deep gasp when he bottomed out with a snap of his hips. Reaching up to grip the edge of the desk, she ground her arse up every time his heavy bollocks slapped against her. She felt him deep inside, just shy of hitting her cervix. The full sensation was wonderful; she embraced the beginning soreness in her core.

A guttural moan escaped her throat as he changed the angle a little, nudging her upper body down onto the surface of the desk while her bum stuck up in the air.

“Good, so good,” she panted, balancing on her toes and locking her knees to accommodate the new position. Her cheek was flat on the wood as she squeezed a hand between her body and the desk to reach her clit.

“Fuck. You look perfect on my cock. Pink and wet and swollen. I love fucking my come deeper into you.” He buried his hand in her hair and pulled a little, making her back arch up.

Extricating her hand from between her legs, she pushed against his abdomen when the strain in her legs started to turn into cramps. “My thighs,” she explained as she turned around to perch herself on his desk. He gave her a moment to place her heels on the edge of the dark wood, watching as she shuffled her bum until she was comfortable.

Licking a bead of sweat from his upper lip, Draco’s gaze flicked from her face, to her breasts, to her cunt, where it stopped. She mirrored his look. From the bright light over his desk, she could see his cock glistening, white-ish streaks of their combined essences smeared over the ruddy, taut skin.

“Tired already?” she taunted him.

Stepping between her thighs, he raised his hands and pinched her sensitive nipples. “Not at all, love. Just admiring your beauty.”

Her breath hitched at the unexpected compliment. “Flatterer,” she choked out as he rocked into her again.

“For once, I’m not.” He placed a sweet kiss on her mouth and touched the side of her face before he settled his hand back on her breast, tugging her nipple.

Hermione grabbed his shoulder, not realising which one it was until he moaned and his movements became erratic. Just when she wondered if he’d be able to hold back long enough this time, he released her breasts and tapped her shoulder lightly to indicate she should lie on her back. Stilling inside her, he examined her face as he leaned forward, brushing back some of the curls clinging to her damp cheek and forehead. The open expression on his face made her blush on a completely different level than the lewd display of her lust did.

She trailed her fingertips across his soulmark, teasing the skin with feather-like touches until he grabbed her hand and pressed her nails into his flesh.

He shivered when she complied, closing his eyes and flattening his lips in concentration. An exciting thrill raced through her veins as he dug his digits into her mark, alternating the intensity of his touch every few moments. The sensation shot directly to her clit and made her walls clench.

“Can you come again?” he rasped out, fucking into her in quick succession.

“Maybe.”

“Shit. A maybe isn’t good enough.” Trailing one hand between her thighs, he flicked the pad of his thumb over her clit.

Hermione keened at the building euphoria as he slowed down his movements under visible effort. As he gradually increased the speed and pressure of his thumb, he watched her raptly.

She had never come twice. Even orgasming once wasn't a given most of the time.

Sweat ran down the sides of both their faces, his short hair partly plastered to his temples, and she assumed she didn't look any better. He slowed down even more, angling his hips with every thrust to press on her g-spot. Relentlessly, he rubbed her clit, circling and rolling it gently between his fingers.

“Close,” she panted, feeling the intermittent spasms of her inner muscles begin.

“Fuck,” he whined. “You don't know what you do to me.”

Hermione pinched her nipple, watching his face tense around his jaw. Increasing the force of her fingertips, the sensation ran in a straight wave to her core. A rush of ecstasy washed through her whole body as she climaxed, scattered white flecks hovering in her field of vision. Out of breath, she gasped, “ _Draco_.”

She settled back onto the desk the moment Draco gave a final thrust, twitching and shivering as he moaned her name loudly. Slumping down on her, he panted into her mussed hair.

Basking in the glorious rapture of the aftermath, the pads of her fingers traced shapeless patterns over the sticky skin of his back, until her spread thighs started to smart under his weight. “You’re getting heavy,” she said, her voice a little hoarse, and pushed on his shoulders.

“Don’t want to get up,” he mumbled. With a kiss on her mouth and a sigh, he ran his palms all over her before he stood up. As he slipped out of her, she felt their blended slickness trickling out of her, leaving a prominent spot on his previously immaculate desk. It made her feel debauched at the same time as _desired_ , and she enjoyed the feeling much more than she expected. She watched Draco as he pulled on his shirt, letting it dangle open over his otherwise naked body. Heaving herself up with a sore groan, she wiggled to the edge of the surface to jump off and get dressed.

He stepped between her legs, effectively stopping her motion. Caressing her thighs and giving her a kiss square on her mouth, he asked, “Dinner tonight? I’ll even offer a nightcap later.”

A smile was tugging on her lips as she looked at him from under her lashes.

He grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

ooOoOoOoo

June 5th, 2003 - Draco’s 23rd birthday

Draco breathed softly into her hair, the grip he had around her vise-like and decidedly damp after their latest round of sex. She smiled against his temple, his skin salty on her lips, and still flushed on his neck and upper torso. Tracing her fingertips over the raised letters of his mark, she had a hard time believing how far they had come from sworn enemies to tentative friends to dedicated lovers. The dreams had decreased in frequency, but they still had them. Inhaling his scent, she felt a stream of happiness course through her.

Hermione examined his slack features. Completely relaxed as he hardly ever was during waking hours, his stubble showed as a dark blond shadow, pronouncing the sharp lines of his jaw.

They’d both dream of each other again tonight, unless—

 “It's unbecoming to watch people sleep,” he mumbled, voice cracking a little with sleepiness.

She nuzzled against his neck, then kissed him below his ear and fastened her grip on his shoulder. “Draco Malfoy, I acknowledge you as my soulmate.”

A faint prickling tickled the back of her soul-marked knee. As she began to be nearly disappointed due to the lack of a more spectacular experience, an inherent warmth spread from her chest and through her limbs, to every tip of her fingers and toes. An overwhelming, happy feeling followed in a wave through her body, making her almost choke out a sob of deep satisfaction.

His eyes flew open, his gaze suddenly sharp and alert. Then he smiled, let his eyelids fall shut again, and pulled her close to him to kiss her soundly.

After a couple of breaths, he was asleep again. She rolled her eyes, just a little bit, and settled into the cradle of his arms.

Figures.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! Praise and constructive criticism are very welcome :). If you find a mistake, please don't hesitate to contact me on tumblr: [o0sarena0o](https://o0sarena0o.tumblr.com/) and I'll try to fix it as soon as I can.
> 
> Prompt: soulmate!au. It's Hermione's seventeenth birthday and when she goes to sleep she will dream of her soulmate  
> Pairing(s): All Weasley's except Arthur, Percy, and Ron, Draco, Rodolphus, Sirius, Oliver Wood, Dolohov, Theo Nott  
> Kinks: wall sex, shower sex, semi-public, light bondage  
> Squicks: any really hardcore kinks e.g. blood play, breath play, scat, or watersports  
> Additional info: none


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